


Promise

by sceawere



Series: Find me in the Fires [1]
Category: Jamestown (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Blacksmithing, Colonialism, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Marriage, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceawere/pseuds/sceawere
Summary: After the loss of Corinna, and the promise of the life she would bring, James Read has all but given up on the fairytale. Verity is determined not to let him wallow in misery, and the call of an old friend asking for passage to Jamestown presents an opportunity she won't let pass.





	1. On The Eve

The wind had wailed half the night, screeching throughout the streets of Jamestown with only the moon for company. James was similarly solitary, hunkering down under the covers, clinging to the warmth he’d managed to amass. He argued with himself whether to leave the bed and shut the loose shutter that was slamming against the wall every few seconds, and quite frankly driving him up the wall. The keep of his mind, or the loss of the warmth, which was more valued to him tonight?

The moon had been high and glaring through the crack when he’d finally relented, throwing the covers away as though they’d been the thing to offend him, and marched over. He had to open the window, reach through, and grab the latch on the shutter that had freed itself from its mate.

The wind caught at the slatted wood and near ripped it from his fingers, the sting of metal slicing across the callouses bringing a hiss from his lips. He snarled at the mechanism when it refused to settle flush, grunting at it when it finally gave in and locked tight. The window bounced against the frame with the force he threw it shut, and the grunt was quickly followed by a tut, and a sigh. He settled it closed softly this time, latching it carefully and quietly.

The close room was more peaceful now, no longer humming, no more glare from the invading moonlight. There was a low whistle through the walls, but it was quiet inside. Empty. James rubbed the pads of his fingers together, not feeling any aching scrape or flush of blood there. The callouses had protected him. The freshest burn on his knuckle pulled as he continued the rotating motion, but it was part of a low ache that was constant in his hands, rather than the fresh pierce of pain. The skin on his hands, his wrists, his forearms had all been scalded and scraped so often it had abandoned wailing at him for long. 

Satisfied there was no need for a bandage, James turned back to the bed, shuffling towards where he knew it to be in his mind. No longer guided by the streak of light, he moved more carefully, the candles having burned down hours before. There was no need to keep the house lit very well, he spent very little time there, and he knew the plan of it by heart when he did need to navigate the small areas. Only he ever needed to. There were no gatherings at the Blacksmith’s house, no visits or callings. Alice had asked him whether he even had a house at one point, her face scrunched in confusion as she did so, having never seen him anywhere but his forge, and there at all hours.

He hadn’t for the first year or so. There was an enclosed area at the back of the forge, mostly for storing his charcoal and the like away from the elements, but it made do for what he needed. A place to work, a place to sleep, some food in his belly. A simple life, but one that had stood him well. When he’d had nothing, been nothing, he’d made promise to himself that if he were ever to have, to be, it wouldn’t be wasted. He had a place to work, a place to sleep, some food in his belly. To ask for more, to dream for more was foolish. It was dangerous to aspire, to desire. 

He’d let himself the comfort of the house though, after a year of the coal stained ground, a year of working into the cold nights just to keep the fire burning around him. He’d slept out amongst the stars before, as a child.  
It hadn’t bothered him then - and it wouldn’t now if he was honest with himself. There was something strangely comforting to the feel of cool straw beneath him, the smell of cinders in the dead of night. More comforting than a real bed, if he continued his admissions. A makeshift mattress in the back of a blacksmith’s shop was meant to be empty. But a real bed. That was meant to be full, to be warm and soft. It wasn’t meant to feel like sand and cinders, not meant to feel like an iced arrow at your spine. The boiled white cotton of the sheets, crumpled not in care but in apathy, was a taunt to him whenever it was seen. 

He’d slept in open fields as a child once he’d ran as far as his legs could take him for the day. Away from the scolding of his father, away from the empty hollow of the house that had never been known as a home for him. He’d bundled himself in the spray of wheat, stared up at the sky. It had never bothered him, and it wouldn’t now. 

But the man who’d built it had died without family, and the house had lay empty, and he’d been offered residence as payment by the Company for all the work he’d done that they could no longer afford to pay him for. The first years had been hard. Terrible harvests had weakened them. Scuffles with the naturals and disease had finished them off. Talk of abandoning the settlement had rose and fallen like the sun on the horizon.

James knew the chances of another opportunity like this were far off and so he’d accepted. He worked hard, and often, and did better than the indentured men for sure. But a house was an expenditure he probably wouldn’t be able to settle with himself in other circumstances. With the land, the time and materials, even a simple dwelling could add up fast, and the house was a manor in comparison. Two floors, real windows, a great hearth. A palace in comparison to the forge-shack he’d occupied up to that moment. 

But even once he’d taken up residence, it lay almost as empty as it had after they’d removed Ellis’ body from it. It was hollow, and cold, and taunting. All the things a home shouldn’t be.

James made his way back to the bed, kneeling against the edge of the mattress. He’d ripped open one end and made sure to stuff it entirely full, sure his new bride wouldn’t want to turn and fall into a crater in the middle of the night. He worried he’d slightly overdone it as he crawled back into place, flopping down against the fleeing warmth with a little less give than he’d expected. A wince marked his arrival on the sheets, a low hum of disapproval as he considered his mistake. He’d rip the seam out again in the morning, he promised himself, hooking the sheets with his knee and sliding them back over himself. 

One more night, he repeated in his mind, one more night of sleeping alone. By the morn the ship would arrive, and there’d be no unfilled bed to taunt him, no half empty table to spite him as he tried to swallow his meal. He closed his eyes, rested back. Thought of the vacant stretch beside him being filled with a warm wife. He let himself imagine, let himself dream. He’d put off the thought of it, so certain it would all come crashing down around him. But here it was, right before him, the ship on the horizon almost. Tantalising in it’s proximity, so close he could imagine her breath on his shoulder. 

After Corinna, he’d abandoned the thought of filling the house with something good. He wasn’t made for comfort, for home and hearth, and to expect anything more was foolish.

But then Verity had paraded that damn letter in his front of his face. She’d poked and prodded and teased and tormented. She was so sure that she was right in her quest to somehow deliver him some goodness. An old friend she’d known as a girl was asking after her, asking whether there might be any way she could find herself securing passage. 

‘Oh, Ready boy, she’d be perfect for you! I just know it!’ she’d crooned, re-filling his cup almost to the brim.

‘If you’re trying to get me drunk enough to sign the contract, you’re wasting your time. I can barely write my name sober’ he’d shot back, promptly draining the cup and turning for the door.

‘If you’re thinking you’ll succeed in being more stubborn than my wife, you’re wasting your time!’ Meredith had shouted after him.

Meredith Rutter was not a particularly wise man, but by God had he been right about that. Two months he’d held out, batting back Verity’s attempts at his heart. She’d roped Alice in after a week or two, trying to soften him up to her suggestions. Jocelyn had joined the pack when that hadn’t worked, appealing to the practicalities. The good Doctor had given him a speech about the wonders of marriage when he’d gone in to have a burn that he couldn’t soften seen to. A retort about his own marital status had gotten little reply but a measured look.

Two months he’d held out. Until he’d gotten back to the house one day. The first time he’d stepped over the threshold in almost a week, exhausted with marred skin. He’d choked down the bread that was unexpectedly not stale, shuffled towards the stairs, pining for nothing but his bed. The crumbs had bittered in his mouth the second he reached the doorway, an aching hand reaching up to grab at the lintel. He’d rested his forehead in the crook of his elbow, stared over at the bare bed.

To hell with it.

He was at the door of the pub the next day, scowling down at Verity’s frenzied grin with just the flutter of excitement in his belly.


	2. Doubt

The storm had put off the boat’s arrival. James had woken up early and walked down to the water’s edge, to see if he could spy the sails. He’d stood alone in the sands, eyes trailing the horizon, swallowing down the nerves that were circling. Nothing. An empty vista. 

‘They’ll have put her into safe harbour round the bay, I bet. It’s what we had to do that time. There’s a curve of land just right to protect you from the wind. Once the waves get so high, you’re no good for anything out there’   
James had turned over his shoulder to eye the grizzled man approaching him, lugging boxes bound for the journey back to the jetty. He didn’t speak, didn’t move to help. The man noted his roving eyes and replied to his unspoken question.

‘Getting a head start, we’ve got two bloody warehouses going back out on this one’ he replied, dropping to rest on one of the boxes he’d dragged across the wood. He sniffled, stared out at the water.

‘She’ll get here, sir. Don’t you worry’

They’d looked out together in silence for longer than made James comfortable, and he’d turned and walked back to the house after one last look.

It’d had gone down, he convinced himself. No use batting away that thought, it’d only be replaced with another one. He’d planted himself at the table, cut into the fresh loaf of bread he’d gotten in the day before. He’d made sure to have food ready for her when she got here, remembering how ravenous he’d been once he got his feet on dry land again. Ship rations were gruelling, and a good meal was a ways to making you feel human again after the journey had stripped much of that away from you.

She’s gone and it’s over. You’ve wasted your money again, Read. Spent all that time making this damn place look like somewhere worth living. You have what you have, nothing more, and to want anything else is foolish.   
He’d got in fresh food. Washed all his shirts, and the sheets. He’d picked fucking flowers from the treeline and put them on the table, only he didn’t have any vases or anything of the like, and so they sat in a battered cup he used to hold broken nails that needed melting down. They were probably weeds anyway, he lamented as he chewed over his breakfast, tiny little heads of buttery petals that fluttered in even the tiny breeze his breath made.

“Alright there, lover boy?”

James shut his eyes and sighed.

“Verity, what are you doing in my house? How do you even know where I live?” he questioned, looking back over his shoulder as she stormed into the room with her arms full. She dropped the bundle to the table, dropping herself into the chair beside him with a grunt.

“Process of elimination. Do you know old man Jakes sleeps naked? Because I do now” she muttered, face screwed up. James looked over at her, chewing the last of the crust as he considered the sight of Verity bursting into his neighbour’s home.

“Anyway” she turned, slapping her palms against the table top “Today’s the day! I thought I’d walk down to the pier with you and we can- “

“I’m not going down” he cut her off, reaching to drain his cup.

“Why the hell not!” she spat, brow furrowing.

“I’ve already been. Ship’s not there. Ship’s not coming” he surmised, rising from his chair with a screech of it’s feet over the boards below it.

Verity spluttered and motioned, right up until the moment he stepped out the front door and didn’t come back.

“Oh no you don’t, James Read!”

“You don’t have to use my name all the time. I’m not likely to forget it” he called back over his shoulder, hoping she’d pulled the door to before remembering he had nothing worth damn stealing in the place.

“You might when I sock you straight across the jaw in but a moment, sir!”

Heads turned towards them as they paraded through the streets, calling to and fro between themselves.

“James, for the love of all that is Holy- “

“When did you begin to care about the Holy?” he scowled, turning over tools on the bench where he’d left them.

“Why would you not go down to welcome your wife?” she insisted, leaning against the beam beside him.

“There’s no wife”

“Is this because of Corinna?” she questioned, and he threw the tool away from himself. It clanged against the pile of scrap, and he pointed up at her.

“Don’t talk about her” he warned, turning his back to her sorrowful expression.

“Oh, James” she sighed, and he steeled his shoulders, licking at his lips in frustration “This won’t be like the last time”

“You don’t know that. I shouldn’t-I knew this wouldn’t- “he suffered for words with a clenched jaw.

Verity moved around the forge, coming to stand before him. She sandwiched his cheeks between her hands, pulling his face down when he raised it away from her gaze.

“You’re a stupid, brave, sweet man who deserves more than he allows himself” she insisted, thumb tracing over his cheekbone.

“I let myself dream about her” he admitted, coughing away the dread that filled his throat. Verity’s eyes gleamed as she shushed him, and he shook his head in her confines “I was stupid to think…”

“She’s coming for you, James Read, I promise you. I once threw her over a bridge! We were six years old, the size of kittens, she couldn’t swim a stroke, and she got herself out. It’ll take more than a little storm to take her down”  
James scoffed a laugh despite himself, eyeing the smile that spread over her face. He reached up to free himself from her grip, tracing a kiss over her knuckles.

“Thank you, Verity” 

“Now get down to that pier before you sully your pretty, clean shirt and welcome your wife to this…rotten place” she snarked, eyeing the stumbling sight of her husband as he exited their home.


	3. Arrival

The ship was sighted, and James was bouncing in the sand. The man from the morning had been right, they’d turned around the curve of the bay rather than coming straight across the water. They were settling into their mooring now and he was shuffling back and forth, unable to settle.

The plank was down, the men unloading cargo, the women making their entrance.

“Not her. Not her. Not- “

“Thank you, if you could just let me know when it _is her_ , that’d be much more useful” he spat, grunting when Verity elbowed him in the ribs.

He sighed as another woman appeared over the top, turning to Verity who shook her head. He reached up and wiped at his face, holding his palm over his eyes when he heard her shriek.

“Hetty!”

“Very!” a voice screeched back, teamed with rapid thumping on the wooden slats.

James steeled himself, ignoring the over-heavy pat on his shoulder he assumed to be Meredith and opened his eyes. The women were wrapped up in each other, sprays of curly hair coiled into one incomprehensible mass, as they swayed around each other. They finally released, taking stock of each other, his new wife’s back to him.

“Oh, look at you! You’re all skin and bones” Verity poked at her ribs and Hetty slapped out a hand, the two women giggling to each other “No worries, I saw that Ready had got some food in for you. You’ll be fed up in no time”

Hetty let out an unconvinced noise of agreement, her own nerves clear as she adjusted the strap on her shoulder. Verity nodded over her shoulder, towards where he was stood, and he winced at the grin on her face.

Hetty turned slowly, eyes wide and inquisitive as she traced first over Meredith and then to him. The nerves flared in his belly, setting fire to his lungs as their eyes met. She was taller than he thought she’d be, Verity having made out she was small as a mouse. But then in her stories they’d been children still. This was a woman. A woman to be his wife. The thought startled him as he took her in, dishevelled from the journey, but still radiant to him.

“Now that lump there is mine, so don’t go getting any ideas” Verity pointed at her husband, ushering Hetty closer to the pair. She rolled her eyes, adjusting the strap again. Her hands came to clasp together before her, and she looked up at him. She looked terrified, eyes fluttering, unable to hold his gaze longer than a second or two. But they kept coming back, darting over his shoulder or over his head for a moment, and then straight back. _Brave_ , he noted. _And here I am staring at her like a lump._

“I, uh- “he cleared his throat, hands adjusting at his hips.

Verity bent her head slightly, eyebrows raised as she egged him on silently. Meredith was scratching at his beard, building up a low hum as the silence stretched between them.

“I swear he had a tongue in his head just this morning” Verity whispered, knocking an elbow against her friend. Hetty jostled, having been still staring at James and paying not much attention elsewhere, and stuttered in her response. She settled on a nervous, breathy laugh that turned James’ stomach over.

He let out a long sigh, scratching at his nose as he looked down to his shoes. Start over.

“I’m James” he settled on. Simple.

“Hetty” she smiled politely, letting out her own breath in relief of the broken suspense. She caught herself after a moment, gasping in before correcting herself “Hester!”

James smiled at the panicked look on her face, the little awkward shuffle she did as she rolled her fingers together. Verity smiled beside them, grabbing hold of Meredith’s arm and pulling him away. Hetty watched them leave, mouthed a frowning ‘stop!’ at what he assumed was Verity’s teasing look.

“I’m named after my grandmother and she would always- I had to use my full, proper name or she got…” she sighed, eyes darting around behind him as she adjusted the strap again.

“Here, let me take that” he reached out, fingers catching hers as they looped under the worn leather strap. She opened her mouth to speak, nothing but incomprehensible whispers as his knuckles grazed the edge of her collar bone. She tilted her neck away slightly, so her hair wouldn’t catch and rolled her shoulder to help slide the band off.

“Thank you” she muttered as he hauled it over his own shoulder and motioned towards the settlement behind them. They walked mostly in silence, Hetty’s eyes darting around her new home as she tried to pull in all the sights she was seeing.

“How many people live here?” she questioned, stepping into his side a little more. James looked down, lifted his arm to move around her back. He rested it lightly between her shoulder blades, trying to ignore the flush of warmth on his fingertips. He guided her around a bend in the street before answering.

“The whole settlement is a few thousand, but most don’t live in the walls. They have their own land out a ways, or live down the banks of the river”

“Really that many?” she questioned, voice perking up “Well, but isn’t that dangerous? Verity said there are wolves and surely the people who- “

“Well, you’re safe in here” he assured before she could work herself into a tizzy. She nodded up at him, wide eyes gleaming. James considered he’d misunderstood her. But a minute ago she’d been so timid she could barely look at him and now she was breathless for the excitement of seeing a wolf out in the wild.

They’d stopped down the end of a street, what counted for streets within the fort at least – wide open dirt tracks between buildings. James rolled his shoulder, shucking the leather strap further up.

“You’re a bit of a wild thing, aren’t you Hettie?”

Her eyebrows raised, lips tilting and then pressing together as she flicked her eyelashes down and avoided his gaze.

“See, I thought you were scared then but I’m going to have to put a lock on our door to stop you fleeing into the night and taming a pack for yourself, aren’t I?”

She laughed to herself, hand flying up to thumb at her lips. She raised her gaze slowly, looking at him expectantly.

“What did I expect? Nervous girls don’t get on ships to marry strange men halfway round the world, do they?” he started a slow walk again, almost to the house.

“They might. Brave doesn’t always mean smart” she posed, and he hummed.

“Well, if I was marrying for brains, I wouldn’t have picked someone who chose Verity for a friend, would I?”

He laughed at her shocked gasp, the way she raised a hand to punch at his ribs, only to catch herself, and tuck it quickly back down. She swallowed, and steeled herself, staring straight ahead as they walked towards the house.


	4. Pilfered Presents

****

Hettie was clearing away the plates, damp hair falling over the shoulders of her new dress, as though she’d lived here for months and not hours. James had shuffled her in, their jest in the street having fallen away from them both as the house welcomed them. They were both skittish again, the reality of their shared home settling into them. It suddenly felt real, and odd, and like they should be more proper about it. Strangers in the closest bond, guests in their own home.

He’d shown her about the place, let her drop her things in the bedroom – their bedroom now - and fetched a bucket of clean water for her to freshen up with. James had settled himself at the table and kept himself busy polishing up some of the work he’d finished in the nervous flurry of the previous few days. His head was bent over his work when she came back down the stairs, and he’d meant to only throw his eyes up for a moment, but she’d been wearing a pretty new dress, and her hair was damp, curling softly over her shoulders.

He’d made her jump when the work in his hands had clanged against the table-top and she’d ducked her head when he’d cleared this throat awkwardly and raised from his seat.

“You’ll want feeding” he’d muttered, wincing to himself as he realised how gruff it sounded. How uncaring and grumpy. His fears were confirmed when she’d begun to protest about not bothering him, settled by the soft smile she gave when he insisted on making her something for she was to be his wife now, and he had a duty of care to her.

“I think that’s for you” James nodded towards the bundle Verity had abandoned on the table top.

“Well, what it is?” she questioned, returning to the table.

“Verity left it” he explained, and she rolled her eyes over to him. He gave a little grunt of agreement at her apprehensive look, and she scoffed a laugh under her breath. Her fingers flurried about the ties, unravelling the fabric to reveal its contents. She gasped, hands delving into the bag to pull up what James now saw was fabric.

“Oh, look!”

She laid it out on the table before them, a patchwork of colours, quilted together with slightly wonky lines. Hester’s hands traced over them, fingers curling over the stems of the embroidered flowers in wonder.

“Put it back in the bag” James insisted, moving to stand beside her and rolling the quilt up in his hands. Hester stumbled back, watching him with great concern as he shoved it almost fully back into the bag. He stalled in his work as he eyed her expression, worried he might have scared her again “She stole it”

He made sure to whisper, eyes moving to the door behind them. No-one ever came out this far, except the people who lived here. No-one ever visited. There would be no-one to hear him. And yet he felt the whip on his back again, his fingers burning as they pinched the illicit fabric.

“She stole a blanket?” Hettie whispered back, eyes on the door as well.

“The fabric, it’s…” James turned back to her, sighing again “There were these sailors – told the Company cargo got stolen or went down and then sold it on themselves and kept the coin. Verity and Meredith got their hands on some of it for themselves. She gave me a doublet with- “

James pulled the fabric up, turning it up in his palm so she could see the scarlet underside.

“She gave me a doublet made with fabric much as this. If we’re seen with this- “

“I’ll say I brought it from England with me” she whispered back, stepping closer to him and folding her fingers over his. She rolled a thumb over his knuckles, frowning as they traced the rivets in the burnt skin. She looked up at him again, all gleaming eyes that made his lungs shiver in his chest “A parting gift, a wedding gift, a good luck charm. The best fabric my village could buy, so I could take part of them to the New World with me. Besides, if someone attempts to enter our chamber and inspect the state of our linens, I would be much surprised”

They stood as he thought it over, avoiding her gaze so he could order his thoughts in a way he found he couldn’t when she was looking at him so. She smiled when he sighed, expecting him to relent to her.

“That corner does look a bit like the pretty dress you’re wearing” he agreed, and she freed one hand to lift the part in question for them to inspect. She held it up against her stomach, hair falling about her as she dipped her head to inspect it. Her fingers fiddled with it for a moment, trying to line up the lines in just the right way. The ones on the dress were just a slight bit thinner but without close inspection it was a dead match.

“Oh yes, you’re right” she agreed, head rising to smile up at him. “So…we can keep it?”

“We put a sheet over it during the day” he insisted, grunting when she dropped the fabric and pushed up onto her toes to peck a kiss at his cheekbone “Where does a woman such as yourself find such a pretty dress?”

She dipped her head again, taking the quilt from him to fold it up. He’d had it crumpled in his grip and she had to spread it over the table top again to sort it top from tail.

“Stole it, perhaps” she murmured, watching him from the corner of her eyes.

“You shouldn’t lie to your husband, Hester. Or joke about such things in a place like this” he warned, and she smiled over at him again. _That damn smile,_ James thought _, I shall need to buy enough candles to keep the house lit well enough I should never miss it. A smile such at that should never see the sun set on it._

“No, I didn’t steal it” she admitted “I worked as a maid in the house of a tailor for a long while. Once the old man died, he had only daughters, and the business passed to a nephew of his, who had no like nor need for me. And so, I looked to these shores.

But before I left, his daughters let me take a bolt or so for my troubles, caring for the man in his age as I did, and for the way I was dismissed. His nephew refused to pay me out what I was owed, you see, but his daughters had the keys before he did, and I was on the ship before the man made his way from the city”

She smiled to herself throughout the story, patting the top of the quilt when it was folded to perfection.

“I was right, you’re a rascal” James joked, and she descended into laughter, pulling the now folded quilt to her stomach again.

James chastised himself for the way his mind jumped to its next point. For in his mind her fingers were splayed not over the bundle of pilfered fabric, but over a swollen belly. The pink of her cheeks as they curved around her smile buoyed him in his thoughts, the soft bite of her lip as she stepped backwards away from him with a chuckle in her eye. _Not even married yet,_ he reminded himself. _When did you become such a heartsick fool?_

But the dam on his heart had broken, the putrid worry he’d shored up inside flowing away like water breaking from a bank. He could feel it almost, the house itself sighing in relief at her presence. That it should be filled with something good, and soft, and joyful. The promise of a promise, the dream of a life. It seemed silly to him now, to wish her away, to turn the sails in his mind. He would allow himself this. He would expect something good. He would.

“I’ll go fetch some more candles. I forgot to stock back up” he explained, pushing away from the table. He expected her to have disappeared up the steps when he threw a look back over his shoulder in the doorway but there she stood, arms wrapped in the quilt, eyes tracing the flowers in the cup on the table.


	5. As Night Falls

James’ decision to wallow in his domestic bliss had hit somewhat of a roadblock when they’d retired to bed that night and he’d abruptly developed the temperament of a skittish child. She’d needed help to unlace her stays - or so she said - and each brush of the pads of his fingers against the flush warmth of her skin under the thin chemise had sent a blush to his cheeks such as he’d never experienced.

He’d ended up going to ‘check whether he’d remembered to latch the door’ when she’d shuffled out of the sky toned skirt, the whoosh of fabric against the floorboards following his retreat down the stairs.

They were married, he reminded himself, having taken the short walk to the chapel in the centre of the fort that very afternoon. Couple five in line, he noted, Hetty hugging some of the women on the way out, friends she’d made on the trip and wished to congratulate. Some had waited outside for them as they’d exited, Verity and Meredith throwing what few blossoms they could grasp together over them. She wore a ring he’d fashioned himself. It was proper, and right.

But beside the glow in his heart, the flush of his skin, he knew they were still strangers to each other, and she a stranger herself to this place. He didn’t want anything to sully himself in her eyes. Nothing to jeopardise the hopeful tint in her gaze. She’d looked so expectantly at the flowers that afternoon, when she thought he wasn’t looking, with their secret coverlet clutched to her. Relieved beyond measure that this place might be a home after all, the same wish he’d held for so long.

They would wait, he decided. They would grow together, within each other, both heart and mind, before they proceeded. This house had known sorrow for so long, and now it would know love, James was determined.

She’d been tucked under the quilt when he returned, and he’d stalled in the doorway, watching her fingers turn the ties at her collar around and around a knuckle. The shirt swamped her, being loose even on him, and half her shoulders were bared, even when she tugged the tie down a ways.

“My clothes all smell of sea-spray and whatever dirty sailors let slop about the hold, and- “

“You thought to steal some of mine instead?” he asked, head resting in the crook of his elbow as his palm found it’s familiar place resting on the lintel. She bit at her lip, gave a subtle shrug. Her nervous fingers unravelled from their confines, she even winced when they were finally free, watching the rush of blood returning to the limb before leaning forward and planting them flush in the fabric.

She kept her eyes to the designs in her lap, finger picking softly at a wonky thread. Verity really did leave something to be desired in her workmanship, but then James supposed she had been working at a rush, and in secret, and so he should be thankful it was vaguely reminiscent of a quilt at all.

“It’s alright” he assured, stepping into the room. His arm fell back over his head, fingers finding his shirt as he yanked it up and over “I won’t touch you yet”

Her eyes moved over the bed, the wall, the window, before their way to him. She nodded slowly, leaning back against the pillows.

“You seem like a very sweet man, I’m lucky to find such as my husband” her gaze fell to trace the scalds on his ribs. She smirked to herself, eyes moving back to the bedspread where it moved now to accommodate her tented knees.

“One as handsome, as well” he finished, enjoying the way her lips rolled together as she tried to stifle a smile. He considered whether he preferred her nervous or bold, sweet or cheeky as he turned his back to drop his clothes into a basket. Both, most likely.

“Well, it wouldn’t be fair if we were unbalanced, for you have made it clear how pretty you think your wife, dear husband” she joked, knees swaying side to side when he turned back.

The grin she had softened slightly as he moved his knee to the end of the bed, panic twitching at his spine as he realised he’d forgotten to let out the fucking mattress as he’d meant to. She didn’t seem bothered by it though, slumped against the headboard as she watched him crawl towards her. She was still smiling, softer, more apprehensive, but she wasn’t scared.

“It’s alright, sweet wife” he breathed, an odd pride settling in his chest as she straightened her legs, allowing him to sneak softly into her lap. He planted a palm either side of her hips, letting her get used to his closeness before he moved any further “I just want a kiss. Just a kiss to ensure I dream of you”

Her eyes flew up from where they’d settled on a scrape at his shoulder, pouring her gaze into his with such fire as he’d never seen.

James wasn’t a particularly religious man. He’d not prayed sincerely since he was a child at the knee, and even after that only when he thought it might be his last thought. A few nights, during the starving times, he’d made whispered pleas. When his belly rolled so heavily he thought they might churn right up inside him. But he could pray tonight. His belly rolled again that way, his heart against his ribs so hard his wife might have sight of it if she lent but an inch closer. He would whisper such thanks into this night that God himself would be jealous of the woman he held in his arms.

Hettie planted her own palms beside herself, fingers trailing over the back of his hands. She leant in nearer, breath fanning over his face as she closed in. Her lips were slow in their work, uncertain still, but it was no chaste peck. It was a lover’s kiss, a bold hand coming to rest at his jaw, breath pouring in to meld with his own gasps.

Her body moved back, her grip moving under his chin to bring him with her. He almost headbutted her when she plopped against the pillows, and they laughed together, swallowed as quickly as the next brush of lips came. James had to adjust his stance, bringing himself down to rest a forearm either side of her head. She moved to get comfortable herself, pushing up onto an elbow, a knee rising to rest against his body. She stilled at his grunt when she rolled her spine and pushed her hips a little too close to his. He rested his head against hers as she tucked it down to rest against his shoulder in embarrassment.

“Sorry” she whispered. He brought a soft giggle from her throat as he nuzzled into it, fingers twirling around a curl where it lay on the pillow.

“No, don’t worry” he murmured back, letting himself just a lingering moment more before rolling to lay at her side. She let out a long breath, flopping back to her own pillows.

“At least we don’t hate the sight of each other” she murmured, eyes on the ceiling when he tilted his head. He laughed, brought his arm up to rest behind his head.

“I could have been an ugly old man” he agreed.

She rolled to her side, rested an arm under her head, and snuggled up to herself. He kept staring up, letting her have a moment to trace his profile without his own gaze. He didn’t want her to get nervous again, to feel watched.

“I can sleep downstairs, if you’d like” he offered, hoping with all hope she would refuse. She reached out a hand to rest gently on his chest, fingers tentative as they splayed out against the skin.

“This is a strange place and I’d like not to be alone” she replied, gripping at his fingers when he wove them over hers “I slept alone on the ship, I didn’t like it”

“Were you scared?” he questioned, and she hummed “You don’t have to be anymore”

“I know. I have a good husband to watch for me” she whispered, hand gripping his.

He tilted his head slightly, enough so he could see her in his periphery, but she’d closed her eyes.

“You barely know me” he replied, glad her hand was there to still the nerves in his chest “to put so much trust in me”

“Verity would have never let me come if she thought you were anything less than decent, believe me. After my sisters died she was all I had. We looked out for each other”

“Oh well, if we’re using Verity as a judge of character” he murmured, shutting his own eyes as she chuckled to herself. There was a ruffle of the cloth as she adjusted in the bed and the thought of the mattress mistake plagued him once more. She settled soon enough though, a little closer to his side, her breath pouring onto his shoulder.

“The candles…” she murmured, half into sleep already.

“They’ll blow themselves out soon enough” he replied, wanting neither to move from their bed.


	6. In The Morn

When James awoke his wife was wrapped around him like a shell, arm delving across his ribs to rest in his grip at his heart. Her slow breaths fanned air over the scars on his back, sending a shiver up his spine with every draw. She hadn’t asked about them, hadn’t questioned a thing when he’d turned his back to her the night before. She’d pressed a solitary kiss between his shoulder blades, deep in the night, when he was halfway through a prayer.

He stared across to the window now, the first rays of light slipping through the slats on the shutters. Dust danced in the beams, slivers of water rolling down the glass as the mist settled into the morn. No thoughts in his mind but that of the feel of his wife pressed against his back, the draw of her breath over his marred flesh.

He tried to detach himself as carefully as possible, jostle her as little as possible, but she awoke regardless. He looked back over his shoulder from his seat at the edge, watched as she traced the back of her hand over a scowling face. Her hair was tousled, crawling around the pillow as though it was the roots of trees, basking for water, growing into the house itself. She took a moment to come to herself, squinting up at the ceiling, and then flopping her head to him. Her eyes followed down his arm, across to the window, back to his eyes.

He laughed when nothing but a low hum emerged from her throat, leaning down to plant a kiss between her eyes. She hummed again, softer, wistful. Her eyes fluttered and rolled over his face when he pulled back, propped up with his hand on the pillow beside her head.

“Morning, husband”

“Good morning, wife”

She pushed up, arms wrapping around his as she sat up in the bed.

“I was warm” she complained, pouting as she pressed her cheek to his bicep.

“I must go to work if I am to keep you in bread and ale” he explained, freeing himself from her grip reluctantly. She watched as he prepared for the day, tucking herself back under the quilt until naught but her head remained.

“I’ll make breakfast” she sighed, poking a leg out of the bed. She pulled the quilt with her, wrapping it around herself as she made for the door. He reached an arm out, shuffling her back to the bed.

“That stays here” he reminded, and she whined, fighting with him as he tried to unwrap her from its confines.

“Warm!” she protested, shrivelling into herself as he threw it back under the sheet and covered it up. He pulled a smaller blanket from the end and wrapped that over her shoulders instead. She scowled up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“I’ll be back before dark”

“So late?” she questioned, wiping at her eyes again. She followed as he made for the stairs, grabbing a slice of bread on his way passed the table. He grabbed his boots, settled himself in a chair.

“I took the day off yesterday to welcome you in, I need to get back on track” he explained through his chewing, trying to tie his boots off. She looked miserable when he looked back up, hovering at the foot of the stairs “There’s an order in for the Governor, if I don’t- “

“I understand” she nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“Go see Verity. She’s been as excited to see you as I was” he rose from the chair, planting another kiss on her forehead.

-

“Oh, piss off!” Verity shouted at an unseen man, pulling the door shut behind her “Right, they can deal with themselves for a bit. I want to hear all about how it went with lover-boy”

Hettie had in fact gone to see Verity not long after James had left. She made and eaten breakfast, washed up, made the bed. She’d washed James’ shirt and shook her bag of clothes out into the river, made sure they weren’t stinking the house up like port dregs anymore. But even all that had only taken a few hours. There was so little in the house, and she had no work for herself, no sewing or growing to be done.

“I prayed so hard he’d be a gentleman on the boat over, I fear I may have ruined it for myself” Hettie complained, crossing her ankles where they were perched on a barrel. Verity smiled, poured her another cup.

“Not so much as a tickle?” Verity frowned sarcastically, and Hettie rolled her eyes, ignoring the chuckle that came from her friend as she took another gulp. She rested the cup back in her lap, swaying her legs back and forth on their perch “He does agree with you?”

“And I him. Greatly” Hettie insisted, heaving a sigh “I got nervous. A stranger, is all, and…I think he thought…”

“Hmm. Better a gentleman than the alternative” Verity came to sit on a chair beside the stack of barrels Hettie had perched herself on, clutching her own cup. She rested her head on her friend’s knees and looked up to her “Missed you, Hessa-het”

“Missed you Vera”

The two descended into laughter, heads turning towards a roar in the other room, deciding to ignore it in favour of their own cups.

“I could put a word in for you” Verity offered, smirking over the brim.

“My husband makes weaponry, Verity. Remember that before you do anything silly, please” Hettie shot back, finishing her cup “Besides, you already got us a wedding gift”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” she sang, reaching for the jug.


End file.
